


astronomy in reverse/it was me who was discovered

by starsandcoffee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Everybody is from Canada because I don't understand America, I had to take the fluff tag off because so far it's just angst, I promise they'll be happy eventually, I'll tag if it gets more explicit, Keith is from Alberta because that's Canada's Texas, Keith's parents are not nice either, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance's parents are not nice in this one, M/M, Slow Burn, This might get really long, Voltron University is in BC, couple mentions of alcoholism + abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandcoffee/pseuds/starsandcoffee
Summary: Keith and Lance are oblivious, Pidge is sassy, angst brings everyone together.





	1. the night sky once ruled my imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Fic and chapter titles are from Sleeping at Last's song Venus (I love them so much check it out). Probably going to end up at around 15k words but things change as I write so we will see. 
> 
> As usual, comments/feedback/kudos mean a lot! Hope you enjoy <3  
> Feel free to hit me up on Twitter to talk about this fic, scream about Klance, or generally fangirl -- @queenbrekker

Keith braces his arms on the kitchen table, spreading his fingers out and watching the scar on his ring finger flex. He remembers getting the scar: he was ten and came home from school one day to find his father standing in the kitchen, holding on to an empty bottle and slurring at the TV, which flashed halfheartedly in their darkened kitchen. His father had yelled something incomprehensible at the hockey game and thrown his bottle then left, presumably to find more alcohol. Keith remembers moving forwards as if in a trance to collect the shattered pieces, then feeling a sharp pain as a large shard sliced his finger. Itwasn’t the first time that his dad hurt him, and it wouldn't be the last.

His grandmother, Namhee, patched him up that day, wrapping a piece of gauze around his finger and whispering quietly to him. He remembers later that night, lying on her balcony covered in a thick blanket and with a spicy hot chocolate concoction. He traced constellations with the tip of his finger, telling her what they were named in English. Keith’s strongest memory of his grandmother from his younger years is probably of how reverently she talked of the sky when they did this together: she told him of the stories behind constellations and of the science behind the stars themselves, and this calmed him like nothing else could. The stars and his grandma were what kept him together over the next several painful years: if kids at school were teasing him, he’d recite facts about space to himself, or if his parents’ fights got too much and he couldn’t stand the yelling, he’d crawl onto his roof and look at the sky.  

Keith is snapped out of his reverie by his mother’s soft voice. “We need you to listen to us, Keith,” she says. “We know this is hard for you to hear” — his father scoffs — “but you have to understand what’s going on”. Keith ignores her halfhearted attempt to comfort him, and instead focuses on preventing his eyes from blurring as he stares down at the scattered hospital records strewn over his family’s table. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, “that I understand why you did this? That I think this is the right thing to do? That I love you?” Despite his best attempts, his voice cracks perilously as he finishes his rant. He picks up a seniors home brochure from the table — it’s adorned with a photo of a smiling, white-haired woman and a dog, who is somehow also smiling. Keith rips it in half, then in half ag

“Stop being so fucking ridiculous, Keith” his father rasps, placing one meaty palm on the table. Keith is struck by just how many times he’s heard that phrase. “Namhee’s losing her damn mind. I don’t have the time to take care of her and your mother is busy. We’re both busy.”  

Keith stares back in shock. “Busy? You’re busy? I don’t care if you’re busy, she’s my grandmother! She raised me because you were fucking passed out on the couch for my entire childhood. You were so busy that you decided to tell me that my grandmother is in Ontario by herself at some stupid seniors home when I flew home for a few days to _see her_? So busy that I find out she’s not here anymore from her fucking landlord? So busy that you couldn’t even manage a goddamn phone call?”

Keith’s mother moves towards him carefully, placing one perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. He flings it off violently. “You think you’re better than him?” he asks. “You talked to your own kid when you felt like it, and now you’re back here with a giant diamond on your finger and another fiancé and you think that you’re qualified to transfer her to some fancy goddamn place in Ontario that you only have money for because you’re fucking a rich guy this tim

His mother fixes him with a glare. “You weren’t here, sweetheart”, she says, putting a note of ice in the endearment. “You were off at your university that you wanted to leave home to go to so badly and we needed to make a decision”. Keith feels his stomach flip, and he steps back, the guilt hitting him like a stone. “I’m fixing this. You can’t stop me”, he says, then snags his bag and walks out of the room, barely holding his tears in until he slams the flimsy front door behind him. 

Keith stands on the pavement in front of the run-down house and pulls out his cell phone, then realizes suddenly that he knows nobody — at university or here in Alberta — that would care. Without looking back, he flips his hood up over his dark hair and walks away from the building he called home for the first seventeen years of his life.

A half-hour’s walk later, he ends up standing outside of his grandma’s old apartment. He’s made this walk so many times he thinks he could do it in his sleep — Namhee’s was his place of refuge after his father passed out, after his mother swore at him and called him useless, after there was nobody home at all. She patched him up after fights with kids, tried to help him with math work, bought him books about astronomy from her very limited savings, and fostered his love of the sky. Keith pulls his key to the place out of his pocket and unlocks the door, not sure what he’s hoping to find. Inside, the walls are still covered in their cheerful floral wallpapers and yellow paint, but the floor is barren. Everything he associates with his grandma is gone, and Keith feels like he’s been stabbed. The person he cares about most in the world is gone, and he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye, he thinks. He doesn’t even know what his parents told her. Does she think he approved the decision and didn’t even come to say goodbye?

Keith sinks to the ground and curls into himself against one wall. Before he knows it, he’s nodded off — the stress of the day has tired him completely. Several hours later, his crappy phone beeps, informing him that his flight back to Vancouver and Voltron University is taking off in two hours and he needs to get to the airport closest to his small Alberta town quickly. Keith steps out of his grandma’s apartment, stopping to make a silent promise to her that he will get her back, and steps outside into the night to find a taxi. 

He passes through security in a daze, then stands before the board of flights trying to find his. He notices that a flight to Ontario is taking off around the same time and briefly contemplates trying to get on to it, but he can’t just leave university like that. He knows that his parents don’t support what he’s doing, and he’s going to see his astronomy degree through to the end if it’s the last thing he does, he thinks. He boards his flight back to Vancouver and spends the time on the plane dozing restlessly, thinking of the stars and of his grandmother. 

*** 

Lance paces in his tiny dorm room, scuffing his sneakers over the threadbare carpet as he switches his phone from hand to hand. Unfortunately, the crappy reception in his room doesn’t stop the tinny voices of his mother and father from drifting through his phone: he is barely aware of what they’re saying, but he understands the general tone of the conversation because he’s heard it a hundred times before: “Lance, you’re a disappointment,” “Lance, why don’t you know what you’re doing?” “Lance, how come you won’t just pick a major?” “Lance, your mother and I were both well on our way to a stable career when we were your age.” 

Lance groans and runs a hand through his hair, which flops back over his forehead, and tunes back in to his parents’ whining. “You just have to find something tolerable that makes you money,” his mother — lauded defence lawyer and country club queen Camila McClain — comments. “We’re not paying for everything forever, Lance,” his father — investment banker Mateo McClain — states. “By the time he was in college — Duke! — Mateo, Jr. already knew what he was doing, Lance,” his father exclaims. “He didn’t have any of this figuring himself out crap, and he sure as hell didn’t spend his time hiking instead of studying something useful”. 

“I’m taking lots of courses this term!” retorts Lance. “Chemistry? Art history? Anthropology? Introductory Russian?” asks his mother, her accent making the list sound lyrical instead of disgusted. “Those are not courses that get you money, Lance. Those are courses taken by a little boy at a little college who doesn’t know what he wants.” 

Lance sinks down on his bed. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says. “I don’t want to be a lawyer or a banker, and I’m figuring this out if you’d just _let me._ Why don’t you both just leave me alone for a while and try to forget about me if I’m such a disappointment?” he spits, then hangs up and throws the phone down on his ocean-patterned bedspread. He feels tears prick the backs of his eyelids, but refuses to let them fall. _They’re not worth crying over_ , he tells himself, and wishes the mantra he’s used since he was 10 actually worked.

He knows that he upsets his parents. They don’t understand what it’s like to not know where you’re going or what you want to do with your life: since both of them immigrated to Canada from Cuba as young children, they’ve been absolutely focused on success. Lance knows that his family looks picture-perfect from the outside: successful parents, five happy kids, but the reality of the thing is a lot less pretty. His parents are kind in public, but they push Lance and his siblings constantly towards success: and in the McClain family, success means money and fame and happiness is always secondary. 

Lance loves most of his siblings more than he loves himself, and he tries so hard to hold them together, but he’s in BC now and they’re in Toronto and he worries that they will fall apart without him there to defend them from the barbed words of his parents and his older brother Mateo, Jr. 

 Lance’s friends tell him constantly that it’s crap, that he shouldn’t need to be a carbon copy of his parents for them to like him, but somewhere deep down Lance hates himself for not being more like them. He’s thinking about this as he lies sprawled on his bed, wondering if he shouldn’t just repress everything that makes him Lance and try to make his parents proud.

Suddenly,Lance’s best friend and roommate Hunk interrupts his thoughts, banging through the door carrying an enormous Starbucks concoction — Lance knows a photo of it is probably already on Instagram — and several complicated-looking textbooks about engineering. Hunk doesn’t even greet Lance before launching into a story about his perfect girlfriend Shay, but he trails off as he notices Lance lying listlessly on his bed. “Ah, man,” Hunk sighs. “The parents?” “Yep,” replies Lance. “It was just my weekly dose of ‘you’re a disappointment, Lance’, ‘get your shit together Lance’. Fun times.”

“Shit,” groans Hunk. “As usual, you know what they’re saying is wrong, right dude?”. “It doesn’t matter if your major is physics or gardening or if you don’t have one, it doesn’t make you disappointing.” “But what’s wrong with me, Hunk?” asks Lance. “You always knew you wanted to be an engineer and I think Pidge was born with a keyboard in her hand and even that stupid kid Keith in my stupid Chemistry class walks around with a billion stupid astronomy textbooks like he’s known his stupid destiny forever…” Lance trails off as Hunk hands him his Starbucks and digs a half sandwich out of his bag. “Eat,” orders Hunk, “you know this is crap and not everybody immediately knows what they’re doing for the next fifty years of their lives and that’s fucking okay, dude. Eat your sandwich and we’re going to class.” Lance sighs and sits up. “Thanks, bro,” he says. “Time for my least favourite class ever.”

***

Lance and Hunk take their normal seats in the middle of Professor Zarkon’s Chemistry 101 class. “I’m already bored,” whispers Hunk, and Lance grins. Pidge takes her seat on the other side of Lance and greets Hunk with a fist bump. Just as class starts, Keith flops down in the seat in front of them. “Damn, he looks like shit,” Lance comments quietly. “I’ve never seen a mullet that greasy but I guess he was too busy studying or some other lame shit.” 

Normally Keith turns around at comments like this and whispers something rude back at Lance, but he doesn’t even manage a halfhearted glare today. In fact, he doesn’t even turn around. “He’s gotta be sick,” whispers Pidge. “You guys _never_ pass up a chance to be gay if you have it.” “Pidge!” says Hunk, scandalized. The ensuing discussion of Lance’s gayness is cut short by Zarkon’s raspy voice. “Something to share, Garrett? McClain? Holt?” he asks, straightening his immaculate suit and handkerchief. “No sir,” the trio stammers, and Zarkon only rolls his eyes before beginning to write on the old-fashioned blackboard. 

Fifty minutes later, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance are sitting in unspeakable boredom as Zarkon drones on about thermodynamics. His monotone is punctuated only by the questions he directs at the class, which are somehow worse than his lecture. Zarkon frequently turns around to pick on the shyest students in the class with impossible questions: Lance has seen him criticize a girl so sharply that she left the room crying, so it’s no surprise that the entire class shrinks collectively as Zarkon turns around once again. Instead of asking a terrible question, he does something completely unexpected. “The university has told me that I must integrate more group work into my class,” he says, leading everyone to look at each other in surprise. There’s never been anything but traditional lectures in Zarkon’s class. “Therefore, I am assigning a project to all of you,” he continues, “you will work in pairs or threes.” Pidge, Hunk, and Lance give each other the well-practiced glance that comes only after having done many group projects together. “Don’t get too comfortable there,” Zarkon frowns. “I will be picking your partners.”

At this, a collective groan rises from the class. After hushing everyone Zarkon begins to read from his attendance sheet. Both Pidge and Hunk receive partners that they are acquaintances with, and exchange numbers and discuss work times. “Someone hot,” prays Lance. “Someone hot, please God”. Instead, Zarkon looks up and smiles, an almost feline grin. “And finally,” he announces, “Kogane and McClain.” 

Keith gets up and without another word walks out of the classroom, not even looking at Lance. Lance himself buries his face in his hands, ignoring Zarkon’s dry chuckle. And Pidge gives Lance the biggest grin that he’s ever seen — he thinks it must have hurt her face. 

The class begins to disperse and Lance moves over to Hunk and Pidge to lament his situation. “Why does this happen to meeeeee,” he asks, stretching out the last syllable into what he thinks is a pitiful whine. Hunk pats him on the back and says that he’ll live, and Pidge only makes some comment about repressed feelings under her breath that she won’t repeat when he asks. Lance sighs one final time. “I’d better go,” he says. “I’ve gotta find fucking Mullet-head so we can try to figure out something for this stupid project.”

Lance spills out into the hallway with the rest of his class, half looking for Keith and half trying to get this really hot girl to notice him. He notices a familiar red backpack moving down the corridor — Keith is nearly running. “What the hell, mullet?” Lance asks, loping after him. “We gotta plan how we’re going to do this thing.” Keith turns around. “Yeah, like hell you’re going to put in any decent work on this thing. You’re useless at chemistry,” he spits. Before he can deliver another jab, Keith sees Lance’s face change, almost imperceptibly. He’s never seen McClain — who has what seems like a million girlfriends and a million and one friends — show any weakness, but he sees his eyes cast down (and notices how long his eyelashes are before slapping himself mentally). Keith doesn’t give Lance a chance to reply to his insult and instead — before thinking about it — snatches his phone out of his hand. “Fuck off, dude,” says Lance. 

Without replying, Keith stabs his number into Lance’s phone. “I can work this Saturday,” he states flatly, then he walks off in the opposite direction, wondering if he just imagined Lance’s reaction. Lance himself stares, half confused at the sudden change of heart and half annoyed. Pidge comes up behind him, notices what he’s staring at, and whispers “ _gaaaaaaaay_ ” in Lance’s ear. He swats her, annoyed, then walks off with her and Hunk to grab some food. 

*** 

Keith grabs a crappy hamburger from the crappy fast food place near his dorm and kicks open the door of his room. He takes a minute to thank the gods that his stoner roommate isn’t there, and sits down on the bed. This has been one of the shittiest weeks of his life (and that’s saying something) and now it’s topped off with having to work with stupid entitled loser McClain who now has his number because Keith imagined some pain in his expression? _Fuck this_ , he thinks, and leans back on his bed to eat his stupid burger. 

Keith is studying at around midnight when his phone buzzes. He ignores it, but it buzzes again. And again. Resignedly, he picks it up, hoping like hell it’s not his parents. 

 

_12:04 am_

**Unknown Number:** keithhghhhh

**Unknown Number:** mulletface

**Unknown Number:** y do u hate me so much I don’t get it

**Unknown Number:** also im so drunbk you need to come to this party

 

_12:06 am_

**Unknown Number:** why u no reply mullet

**Unknown Number:** I am ireseitable

**Unknown Number:** irresitable

**Unknown Number:** iresistible

**Unknown Number:** fk what i mean is u know u want me

 

Keith stares down at the texts, which are accompanied by a ridiculous number of emojis. Almost in spite of himself, he saves the contact and replies. 

 

_12:08 am_

**Keith:** Lance, I presume?

 

_12:11 am_

**Lance:** no its dr livingstone fuckhead

**Keith:** I’m surprised you know who that is. 

**Lance:** asshole

**Lance:** i tok lots of history 

**Keith:** You didn’t take lots of English. Your spelling is awful.

**Lance:** i asm so drunk we went over this mullet

**Lance:** gsletkcfasn

 

_ 12:13 am _

**Lance:** jesus i bet usr studying or shit its fruday nite kogane getalife

 

Keith looks at the veritable stream of emojis covering his phone and sighs.

 

_12:14 am_

**Keith:** This is why I didn’t want to give you my number. So many emojis. 

**Lance:** uhhhhh seems fakes kogane

**Lance:** ur the one that gave it to me

 

Keith looks at this text for a couple of minutes. After a while he replies “Only out of necessity.” and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back, he sees a message waiting. It reads “i don't believe that shit mullet its bc u loveee me” and is followed by yet more questionable emojis. Keith doesn’t reply to that, but as he lies in bed thinking about his grandma and his classes and a million other things, he lets a small smile cross his face — only because he’s picturing Lance with a hangover, he tells himself. 


	2. i thought i'd never find you/when suddenly i saw you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! I've actually been able to update this really quickly because exams are finished (can I get a hell yeah?).   
> pidge and hunk betting on klance is my religion!!  
> also, kudos + comments help me improve and stroke my ego, so please leave one if you like this!  
> hope you enjoy <3

Lance wakes to the sound of Hunk’s alarm, which has been set to play Beyoncé’s “Halo” for as long as he can remember. “It’s too goddamn early, Hunk,” he groans. “Also, I think my head has broken and I might be ascending to heaven as we speak.” Hunk jumps out of his bed in an annoyingly cheerful manner, ignoring Lance’s protests. “It’s your fault for drinking so many of those weird blue things last night, dude,” he comments. 

“How was I supposed to know that they’d be so strong?” asks Lance. “I swear I only had two but then there was that guy and…oh god,” he trails off, as memories of the night start to come back. Hunk chuckles, a deep sound. He tosses a clean blue hoodie at Lance and yanks his blankets off in one practiced motion. “Whyyyyyyy?” asks Lance. “It’s like 8 am on a Saturday, why are we even awake?” “We’re meeting Pidge at the library to get a jump start on that chem assignment,” replies Hunk. “We talked about it last night, remember?” “No,” says Lance. “Do I really have to deal with Mullet this early in the morning?” “Don’t lie to me,” says Hunk, grinning. “I saw you text him at that party, read his response, and do a shot, man. Pidge might just be right about you two.”

That definitely wakes Lance up. “I texted him?” he asks. “Damn, I really must have been wasted. He grabs his phone and reads his texts, then sighs. “Wow, drunk Lance really does like emojis,” he comments. “So does sober Lance,” Hunk points out. “Fair enough,” says Lance. He scrolls through his various social media quickly, then shoots off a quick text.

_8:09 am_

**Lance:** can you meet at those tables in the Balmera wing of the library @ 9:30 for chem??

To Lance’s surprise, Keith replies almost immediately (Lance discovers that he’s saved Keith in his phone as Mullet with a devil emoji)

 

_8:12 am_

**Keith:** K.

 

Lance shows the text to Hunk, exclaiming indignantly that he could never be gay for anyone who “Ks people” (even if their mullet is a lot cuter than he originally thought). Hunk only sighs, motioning for Lance to hurry up and go take a shower. Twenty minutes later, Lance emerges from the bathroom, feeling only marginally better. Even his usual skincare routine hasn’t shaken his dull headache and slight nausea, and he thinks he’s never dreaded anything more than a day working with perfect Keith. 

Another twenty minutes later, they are stepping out into some rare British Columbia sunshine — Hunk turns his face up to the sun, but it sends Lance fumbling in his bag for a giant pair of sunglasses. The duo takes Lance’s crappy car to pick up coffee from the tiny shop where Hunk’s girlfriend Shay works. Hunk gets his usual whipping-cream-and-caramel mess, and Lance tries to persuade Shay to give him black coffee with espresso mixed in: fortunately, she refuses this and instead makes him a chocolate smoothie with an espresso shot. Hunk kisses her goodbye quickly, and they walk out of the shop. Lance takes a sip of his drink and sighs happily, commenting that he’ll marry Shay in a second if Hunk ever gets sick of her. “I don’t think that’ll happen, man,” says Hunk, blushing slightly. “Ah, young love!” exclaims Lance with renewed energy, flinging an arm out sideways and nearly clipping some professor in the face. 

When they arrive at their favourite spot in the library — the nook in the Balmera wing has a giant skylight and is full of soft white and blue beanbags — Pidge and her partner Bex are already there, brainstorming. Their final group project is straight from hell: each pair has to perform a fancy experiment from a list Zarkon has provided and then deliver an oral presentation on their results. Lance flops down on a beanbag, licking his spoon in an effort to get more of Shay’s delicious creation. Bex greets him with a grin, and Lance nods back. “Wow, Lance,” says Pidge, and nods at his smoothie. “You look like you were put through a blender, too.” Pidge and Hunk fist-bump, and Lance rolls his eyes. “Just a little hangover, Pidge, nothing bad,” he says, but his point is made a little less valid by how hard he winces when the sun shifts into his eyes. 

Soon after, Hunk’s partner Tyler arrives and grins good-naturedly at everyone. Before long, both pairs are wrapped up in discussion: Pidge’s fingers are flying away at her laptop keyboard and Hunk is drawing something on the whiteboard and gesturing animatedly. Lance, however, is _sans_ partner. He spends a couple minutes organizing his chem notes carefully, then sighs. “Does anyone know where Keith got to?” he asks, then answers his own question: “probably too busy styling his hair.”

_9:54 am_

**Lance:** where tf are you?

 

***

 

Keith is in fact not busy styling his hair. He’s lying on his bed, embroiled in one of the most frustrating conversations of his life with some guy in Ontario. Keith fell asleep shortly after he finished texting Lance the night before, but he was restless and spent most of the night tangled in his sheets trying to ignore the snores of his roommate. He still can’t believe that his grandma is thousands of kilometres away and he hasn’t talked to her. The guilt keeps coming back, too. What if it’s his fault that she got sent away? If he stayed at home instead of going away to university, would she be gone? Does she think the plan was his? What if she thinks he doesn’t care? 

Keith had woken up from an awful nightmare about a purple-coloured, yellow-eyed Lance chasing him around 5:30 in the morning, and after his stoner roommate Rolo left, he had found the name of his grandma’s retirement home online and started trying to contact her. He’s been at it for at least two hours, and the entire thing has been driving him insane. First he called the home, but then he wasn’t authorized to talk to his grandmother because he isn’t a “confirmed relative” — what the hell — and this led to a thousand other phone calls as he tried to prove that he is actually her grandson. It doesn’t help that Keith hates talking on the phone more than almost anything else, and by the time he looks up at the clock and notices that it’s way past the time he was supposed to meet Lance, the lack of sleep and stress have caught up with him and he’s absolutely wrung out. 

He sighs and hangs up on the cheery elevator music piping through his phone — yet another place has put him on hold, and he hasn’t gotten any closer to contacting his grandma. Feeling sick, he yanks on a fresh t-shirt and his favourite jacket and heads out the door. 

Keith doesn’t even think to check his texts until he’s halfway across Arus Quadrangle, and he sighs: he’s missed a couple texts from Lance, but nobody else has contacted him, aside from an obvious scam telling him that he can make thousands of dollars a month selling cats. _Cats_ , thinks Keith. _You’d think they could pick a better scam, meth or something._

He stops into his favourite shop to greet Shay and pick up a coffee. The day’s special is a spicy hot chocolate, and just seeing the sign brings back unbidden memories of his grandmother. He shakes them off and steps out.

Keith arrives at the library around quarter after 10, and Pidge and Hunk greet him with smiles. Lance, on the other hand, is not impressed. “What the fuck, dude?” he asks. “You were supposed to be here at 9:30. Too busy watching conspiracy theories or something? Y’know, after you said that I’d be useless, I expected you to actually be here on time, but I guess you can’t even do that.” “Lance…” Pidge sighs, and Hunk places a warning hand on his shoulder. Ordinarily, Keith would reply with something equally venomous, but today he’s so emotionally exhausted that he can’t even muster the interest to flip Lance off. Instead, he sits down in a beanbag and yanks his chem textbook out of his bag. “Let’s get this shit done,” he says, ignoring Lance’s childish pout. 

The group of six is caught up in their work for the next several hours, and their quiet conversations and typing are only interrupted occasionally by Lance and Keith bickering or by Pidge making quiet comments to Hunk that she won’t repeat when Lance or Keith asks. Once, Lance gets fed up with Keith refusing to listen to his idea and spits “you’re too busy being a perfect student to pay attention?” He thinks this is a fantastic insult, but as soon as he says “perfect” Pidge throws her arms up in a silent victory, and Hunk slides a $10 bill across the table to her, to everybody else’s confusion. This happens again when Keith makes a derisive comment about how many girlfriends Lance seems to have, except Hunk receives a $20 instead. Keith wonders idly if Pidge and Hunk have seriously established bets on what he and Lance are going to argue about. 

Eventually, around 8pm, the group is exhausted. Bex and Tyler drift off after making plans to work at the same time next week. Pidge and Hunk hang around for another 20 minutes or so, waiting for Lance, but he's in the middle of an actually productive period with Keith and he promises that he’ll meet up with them later. He and Keith are silent for a long time and the only sound in the room is their keyboards clicking. Eventually, Lance notices that even this sound has stopped, so he looks over at Keith to ask why the hell he isn’t working, and _ohmygod_ Keith is asleep. Lance would normally just shake his shoulder and chew him out for not working, but Keith looks more relaxed than he’s ever seen him before. His unfairly long eyelashes brush his cheeks and he looks surprisingly young — and maybe a little cute, but you wouldn’t hear Lance admit that. Lance groans, one of those incoherent I-am-absolutely-done sounds, and whacks his head against the wall. After wondering what to do for a couple minutes, he yanks out his phone. 

 

_8:37 pm_

Group Chat: squaaaaad

 

**fuckboi:** guyysys

**fuckboi:** sos sos sos

**fuckboi:** i need help stat

**pidgewidgeon:** have you found another love of your life?

**fuckboi:** i wish

**fuckboi:** anyways that s not the problem

**hunk o’ love:** ok what happened

 

Keith shifts and sighs slightly, exposing a strip of his stomach. 

 

**fuckboi:** aslkhekslhga y me

**hunk o’love:** c’mon lance be straight with us what happened

**pidgewidgeon:** Hunk he can’t be straight with anyone

**hunk o’love:** *fist bump*

**fuckboi:** guys serious

**fuckboi:** I’m still in the library with Keith

**fuckboi:** I don’t know what to do

**fuckboi:** guys he’s asleep

**fuckboi:** i dont want to wake him

**fuckboi:** he looks hella tired

**fuckboi:** but i can't leave him here alone that feels weird

**pidgewidgeon:** Lance I know what to do

**pidgewidgeon:** punch him in the mouth

**pidgewidgeon:** softly

**fuckboi:** oh no

**pidgewidgeon:** with your mooooouth <3 <3 <3

**fuckboi:** goodbye useless friends

 

Lance makes an exasperated noise. He doesn’t know why he expected them to help, but they aren’t. Just as he contemplates calling Matt and telling him that his precious little sister can actually do shots, Keith stirs awake. 

“Jesus, sorry,” says Keith. “How long was I asleep for?” “Not too long,” replies Lance. “Like a half hour or something”. “And you didn’t wake me up?” asks Keith. “Uhhhh,” Lance says eloquently, but he’s saved from further embarrassment when Keith interjects that he needs to get back to his dorm to study. He looks at the skylight and appears to notice that it’s pretty late and pouring rain. Keith snags his light cotton jacket and sighs inwardly, but before he can brave the downpour, Lance says, “Wait.” 

If Keith didn’t know better, he’d say that Lance was almost bashful. He rubs the back of his neck then says, “I can take you back to your dorm, y’know.” Keith is taken aback, but he’s not one to refuse a free ride when Vancouver weather is being Vancouver weather. “Ok,” says Keith. “Let me just grab everything.”

Five minutes later, Keith is sliding into the cracked leather passenger seat of Lance’s old car. When Lance turns the key in the ignition, the car coughs loudly a couple times then starts blaring Kesha’s “Your Love is My Drug” at the decibel level of a small factory. Lance jumps (endearingly) and turns the old-fashioned CD player down, and they pull out of the university parking lot. 

Just to break the silence, Keith comments “I thought you were a trust fund kid. How come you have such an old car?” He means it lightheartedly, but it comes off pretty harshly and a dismayed Keith sees Lance frown — again, almost imperceptibly. Lance doesn’t reply for a pretty long time, and Keith thinks he’s just decided to ignore him, but then Lance says, “I like her” in the quietest voice Keith has ever heard him use. They lapse back into silence again after that, listening to the mix of crappy pop that Lance has playing. 

The traffic is disastrous, and to pass the time, Keith asks Lance how he got to know Hunk so well. Lance explains how he’s known Hunk since he was a little kid — they grew up together in Toronto and Hunk’s mom and dad were the supportive parents that Lance never had, although he doesn’t say that to Keith. Soon, Lance is absolutely caught up in telling Keith a story about how he and Hunk tried to steal part of a wedding cake when they were six, and ended up causing the entire thing to collapse just as the bride and groom cut it. Keith, despite himself, is chuckling slightly, when he hears his phone buzzing from inside his bag. 

He snags it, hoping that it’s one of the people he called earlier that day, finally getting back to him. It’s not. Keith has 6 missed calls from his mother and his father, and he feels a sudden nervousness hit him like a knife in the ribs. “I’ve gotta take this, Lance,” he says. Lance, cut off in the middle of an animated sentence, nods. 

“Hello?” asks Keith. On the other end, he hears shuffling then his mother comes on to the line. “Keith?” says his mother, sounding near tears. “Oh thank god, we found you.” Keith is dreading what she’s going to say next, and he realizes with sudden clarity that he’d suffer through anything — a thousand projects with Lance, a thousand of Zarkon’s lectures, fuck, a thousand abusive childhoods — if it just would mean that his grandma was okay. Lance pulls the car up outside his dorm, but Keith is entirely focused on the call. He doesn’t even realize that he’s clenching a fist so tightly that his palm is bleeding until Lance unwinds his fingers gently. 

“What is it?” he asks, warily. “Keith, it’s your grandma,” his mom says — Keith feels his stomach twist like somebody hit him. “They’ve just called me from Ontario. Her health has worsened in the couple weeks she’s been at the home. They’re not sure what’s going to happen.” Keith is struck dumb. Before he can muster any kind of response, his mother continues to speak, maybe more gently than he’s ever heard before. “We’re in the airport right now on the next flight out to Ontario but we couldn’t get a hold of you earlier. You don’t have to come, but I’m sure you will want to — and I know Namhee will want to see you. ” Keith’s mom’s voice cracks, and she lapses into Korean, which he’s only heard her do once before, when she was really drunk. Keith feels almost sorry for her and kicks himself for it. The guilt that’s been haunting him for the past week comes crashing down once again, and Keith struggles to hold back tears. _I will not cry in front of Lance,_ he tells himself. 

He collects himself. “Okay,” he says. “I’m outside my dorm right now. I’m getting my jacket and passport and then going to the airport; I’ll get a taxi. Book me the next flight.” “Keith, it’ll be expensive,” worries his mom. “I don’t care,” replies Keith. “I’ll pay whatever it takes. Talk to you soon.”

Keith snags his schoolbag and spares Lance the briefest “bye” before jumping out of the car and running into his dorm. Once inside his room, he nearly chokes on the clouds of pot smoke inside his room — he’s been meaning to request another room for ages, but his stoner roommate Rolo is barely there and he keeps forgetting. Keith pushes through the smoke, greets Rolo, grabs some money, his passport, and a change of clothes, and dashes back out. He grabs his phone, intending to call a taxi company. 

 

***

 

Lance watches Keith disappear into the dorm, absolutely floored by what has just happened — one minute, they were actually enjoying talking to each other and the next Keith was nearly in tears in his car. He always assumed that Keith was so quiet because it was his personality or because he liked being emo or whatever, but he’s never thought about Keith having some family issues of his own. Lance doesn’t know what’s happened or where he’s flying, but he does feel an immediate sense of regret. 

He’s spent a good portion of his first year at Voltron University making fun of Keith. On the surface, he’s always made it light hearted, but deep down he feels — felt — an enormous amount of resentment towards Keith. He always seems like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get there, and Lance wishes so deeply that he knew that. Now though — Lance isn’t sure what to feel. What he does know is that he can’t just leave Keith alone to deal with this. He’s not sure why he feels such a sense of compassion for someone he’s hated so vehemently for the last year, but he does. Sighing, Lance gets out of his car. 

 

***

 

Keith runs outside, on the phone with the taxi company. All of a sudden, he stops dead on the pavement, surprised. Lance is still standing there, looking vaguely nervous (but more than vaguely proud of himself). “What the fuck are you doing?” says Keith. “Go home, I’ve got shit to deal with.” The lady Keith is talking to makes a confused noise, and Keith hangs up on her unceremoniously. Lance doesn’t say anything. “Seriously?” questions Keith. “I really don’t have time to deal with you. What’s the fucking problem?” Lance smirks, infuriating Keith. “I’m taking you to the airport,” he grins, “because I’m such a good person!” Keith is simultaneously annoyed and reminded of a small puppy. He doesn’t want to talk to Lance — to talk to anybody — but he decides that a fast, free ride outweighs this. “Okay,” he replies, “but I’m driving. Give me your keys.”

Lance throws the keys to his beloved car to Keith reluctantly and slides into the passenger. Keith drives faster than he ever has in his life and lays out the bare-bones situation to Lance, because he keeps asking. He doesn’t explain anything about his parents but tells Lance that his grandmother is in a home in Ontario and that she has become sick. Lance, in a rare moment of kindness, says nothing in response to this, but stretches his hand out and squeezes Keith’s on the gearshift briefly. Keith is taken aback, and the silence of the rest of the ride is punctuated only quietly by Lance quietly swearing (or praying, Keith isn’t sure) in Spanish when Keith takes a corner especially fast or nearly runs somebody over. 

Eventually, they pull up at the drop-off zone at the airport. Keith leaps out of the car — his mom has texted to inform him that his flight takes off in twenty minutes and they’re holding it specially for him — and grabs his bag. He expects to thank Lance quickly and go off again, but he notices that Lance has gotten out of the car. Keith walks up to him, and before he can react Lance wraps him in a tight hug. Keith is well, _shook_ , but Lance releases him pretty quickly and doesn’t explain himself. “Listen,” says Lance, “text me if you need anything, mullet.” It’s all Keith can do to thank him quietly and then run into the airport. 

 

Lance sits in his car until an airport security man asks him to move, wondering what the hell he’s doing. Just like the last time, Keith passes his flight dozing and worrying, thinking of the stars and his grandmother — but this time, he thinks of Lance too. 


	3. i was a billion little pieces/till you pulled me into focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst is fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean to write anything today but then I was walking and got this idea and just had to write it down. I did want this story to be fluffier, I swear!  
> I'm also not a doctor so I have no idea if some of this stuff is accurate. 
> 
> Please leave kudos/comment if you like this as always <3

 

Keith’s flight lands at around 2:30 in the morning, and he stumbles out into the Toronto night to find a taxi. He leaps into the first one he sees and tells the driver that he wants to go to Sendak Care Home. The drive is surprisingly long, and as Keith watches the lights of the city rush by he swears he sees a sign reading _McClain LLP,_ and wonders if he’s so tired that he’s hallucinating Lance’s name. 

Eventually, the car pulls up outside of a nondescript building in the outskirts of Toronto. Outside, flowers and ivy overflow from planters — it should look idyllic and peaceful, but the harsh streetlights outside make the place look almost abandoned. One of the letters on the building’s sign is peeling off, making the awning read “ _endak Seniors Home”_. Keith is struck by just how nasty the entire place looks: the ground outside is strewn with cigarette butts and some liquid that he really doesn’t want to know about is splattered in and around the gutter. The door has a sign halfheartedly plastered in the window: it says in an almost unintelligible scrawl that the care home does not accept visitors without advance appointments. The stagnant Toronto air swirls around Keith, carrying with it the faint smell of fast food and a much stronger smell of what might be cat urine. The pallor of the entire place is so strongly juxtaposed with the smiling, happy faces on its brochures that Keith has to check the sign again to make sure that he’s at the right place. 

He steps inside, and a blast of slightly too cold air washes over him, smelling of Purell and something less pleasant. There’s nobody at the reception desk, so Keith rings the metal bell sitting on it several times, and a young, harried-looking orderly rushes into the room. “Are you Mr. Kogane?” he asks. “Yes,” replies Keith, trying to ignore the splashes of what might be blood on the orderly’s white shoes. “I’m going to need to see some ID,” the man tells him, “and then you can come upstairs. Your parents are already here.” Keith practically throws his passport at him and doesn’t wait for confirmation before stabbing the elevator up button frantically. 

Keith and the orderly arrive on the fourth floor, which is almost scarily quiet. Keith tears down the hall, and stops when he hears his parents conversing quietly: for once they aren’t fighting, he thinks. He yanks open the door and steps inside, not sure what to expect. 

 

***

 

Lance, Pidge, and Hunk are sitting outside under a spreading maple tree, tossing a frisbee at each other and chatting. Or at least, Pidge and Hunk are chatting. Lance is barely paying attention, only nodding occasionally to give the illusion of being part of the conversation. Hunk throws the frisbee at him, and it hits Lance in the chest. “Dude, what the hell?” asks Hunk. “You like you’re a thousand miles away. What’s wrong?” “I don’t know,” says Lance. “I know!” exclaims Pidge, with an annoyingly large smile. “He’s worried about Keith” — she makes a heart with her hands — “aren’t you, Lance?” Lance groans and flops back on the grass, covering his face with an arm. “Maybe I am,” he says, then all in one breath: “I know he must have landed by now, but he hasn’t said anything to me, and I know he’s probably fine, but still I don’t know, I just wanted to make sure he was ok, because I know something’s wrong with his grandma and I just…” Lance trails off as he realizes that Hunk and Pidge are both staring at him.

“Wow.” says Pidge. “Those were the most non-insulting words I’ve ever heard you say about Mullet” — she makes air quotes around Keith’s nickname — “and they were all in one sentence. This might be too much for my heart to handle!” she exclaims dramatically. “Shut up, Pidge,” Hunk says good-naturedly. “I think he’s actually worried.” “I am!” says Lance. “I was going to text him like six times today but I never have because I don’t want to look dramatic or worse, like I care.” Pidge snorts, undignified. “You obviously care, Lance. Just text him something brief. No emojis.”

 

_9:57 am_

**Lance:** is everything ok?

 

***

 

A million years of thinking wouldn’t have prepared Keith for what he sees inside the room. First, he notices just how miserable the place itself is: instead of the spacious rooms promised by the home’s website, his grandmother is ensconced in a tiny bed in the corner of the room. A lone, depressing houseplant sits on the windowsill, and the walls, painted a clinical green, are adorned with a few slightly crooked pieces of motel art. Keith thinks that if his family was removed from the scene, he wouldn’t be able to tell that it was his grandma’s room. 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder the scene, though. His parents notice his entrance and walk over to him, motioning for him to be quiet. “She’s sleeping,” his mom tells him. She envelops him uncharacteristically in a hug, and even his dad places a hand on his shoulder briefly. Lance moves over to the bed as if drawn by some invisible force: he feels the same way he did when he was ten and got that scar: like he’s in a trance and things aren’t really happening. 

His grandmother is lying in the bed, in some kind of medicine-induced slumber. Her eyelids twitch every now and then, and Keith stares. She looks more frail than he has ever seen her, barely making a dent in the bed. Keith remembers her as the woman from his childhood: bright, cheery, always talking. Now, that woman is gone, replaced instead with a shadow. Namhee’s skin stretches tightly over her cheekbones, and she has an IV in her left arm and an oxygen monitor wrapped around her finger. Her hair has thinned considerably since Keith saw her last — only a month ago — and he reaches down gently to brush some of the white strands off her forehead. She doesn’t stir, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees wet spots dotting the bedspread (which is very purple and very threadbare). Keith motions for his parents to go into the hall so he can talk at a normal volume. 

Once they’re outside, Keith launches into a torrent of questions. “Why isn’t she in a hospital?” he asks, and his parents tell him that she’s going to be moved in the morning, but paramedics and the care staff decided it would be best if she rested for the night first. “Nobody’s exactly sure what’s wrong with her,” explains his mother. Keith feels a sudden wave of venom wash over him. “I know what’s wrong with her,” he says. “You flew her halfway across the country to a crap home that she doesn’t need to be at.” “That’s not fair, Keith,” his mother says, sounding upset. “Sorry,” Keith drawls, filling his voice with as much sarcasm as possible. His mother flinches. “I don’t care what you say,” Keith continues ruthlessly, “just go. Get some sleep or something and I’ll wait with her. I want her to see me when she wakes up.”

His parents leave without protest, which only annoys Keith more. He goes back in to the room and pulls an uncomfortable plasticky chair up by his grandmother’s bed. He intends to stay awake and keep an intent vigil, but the events of the last twenty-four hours catch up with him suddenly and he nods off. 

 

_11:23 am_

**Lance:** Mullet, I might be slightly worried…

 

Keith is stirred out of sleep several hours later by his grandmother’s raspy voice. “Keith?” she asks, causing him to bolt upright in his chair. “Oh my god,” he says, overcome. He hugs her tightly, careful not to disturb any of the tubing surrounding her, and doesn’t even make an attempt to hide his tears this time. “How do you feel?” he asks. “I was so worried, _halmeoni,_ ” he sighs. His grandmother coughs suddenly, and she doesn’t close the tissue fast enough for Keith to miss the flash of red. “Oh god,” he says. “Do you want me to get the nurse? Do you need water? What can I do?” “No,” she sighs, “stay and tell me how university is. I want to hear your voice, Keith”. 

For the next few hours, Keith tells her about his classes — his final astronomy paper, Zarkon’s horrible project, and everything in between. He even regales her with a story of how Lance once nearly killed Zarkon in class by mixing some things wrong and causing a beaker to shatter with a gigantic bang. He’s about to go on to tell her about something else, when she holds up a hand — Keith only notices then how spotted with age it is. 

“Who is this Lance?” she asks. Keith sighs. “Just another classmate,” he explains resignedly. “Nobody special.” “Really?” asks his grandmother, surprisingly mischievously. “Keith, you smiled more telling that story than I have seen all today.” Keith sputters. “That’s because it’s funny! I like watching McClain screw up, nothing more!” His grandmother rolls her eyes and moves onto another topic, but she does not look convinced. 

 

_3:08 pm_

**Lance:** Keith? 

 

A few hours later, Keith’s parents return, to find his grandmother sleeping fitfully again. Keith had been telling a story when he noticed she was asleep, a faint smile touching her face. They summon workers from the local hospital, who take Namhee there. Worryingly, she doesn’t wake up. Keith doesn’t even think to check his phone. 

 

_6:18 pm_

**Lance:** C’mon, man.

 

Around midnight, Keith’s parents basically pry him from his grandmother’s side and persuade him to get some food and a little bit of sleep. He leaves with a promise to return in a few hours. When he steps outside, he checks his phone to find three missed texts from Lance and a missed call, but no message. Oddly touched, he replies quickly. 

 

_12:23 am_

**Keith:** I’m fine. 

 

He doesn’t expect Lance to reply — it’s late, after all, and Lance is probably at some stupid party picking up girls. 

 

_12:24 am_

**Lance:** Jesus, Keith

**Lance:** I was mildly concerned

**Keith:** I didn’t know you cared, McClain. 

**Lance:** I don’t! really!!

 

Keith smiles quietly and puts his phone back inside his backpack. 

***

 

Keith is dozing on and off in a hospital waiting chair. Hospital waiting hours haven’t started and the receptionist absolutely will not let him in, despite his protests. He contemplated dressing up in scrubs and trying to worm his way past security, but he decided it would take too much effort. Eventually, the receptionist wakes him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and tells him that he can go in. 

Keith stumbles into the room, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. The scene inside the room reminds him of every cliché scene in every TV drama he’s ever seen. His grandma is lying in the bed, looking pale, and a kind-seeming doctor is explaining something to his parents. Keith introduces himself to the man — his name is Dr. Thace. He informs him that his grandmother is having lung problems, and she is going to require an immediate surgery. Dr. Thace sits them down as kindly as he can and explains that her chances aren’t good, but that she’ll pass if they don’t do anything. Keith chokes back tears (which is a familiar feeling by now) and he notices that his mother is openly crying as she signs a form to authorize the surgery. 

“I’ll give you three a minute to say goodbye before we take her,” says Thace, standing back to the corner of the room. Keith’s dad touches Namhee’s hand almost embarrassedly, and Keith’s mom brushes a kiss on her forehead before they leave quietly. Keith moves over to the bed, again feeling trancelike. He looks at his grandmother — his closest family, the person he loves most deeply in the world — and wonders how he’s going to just say goodbye to her like this. Eventually, he kisses her on the cheek — not expecting her to wake — but as he does, her eyes drift open. “Keith?” she whispers. “You need to listen to me,” she says fiercely. “Of course,” he whispers. “Keith, I don’t want you to be alone after this. You must not grieve by yourself, and” — she falters, catching her breath — “look up at the sky and remember how much I love you, every day. As long as you have the sky, you aren’t alone.” “You’re not going to die!” says Keith, too loud for the tiny room. 

“I love you more than I love the stars, Keith,” she says — the phrase they’ve said to each other since he was a tiny child. “I love you more than I love anything, _halmeoni,_ ” he replies, nearly choking on his tears. “Goodbye,” she says, and dissolves into a fit of coughing which Keith can tell she’s trying to hold back. Thace moves forward to wheel her bed out of the door, placing a paternal hand on Keith’s shoulder as he goes. 

Keith walks out of the room, thoughts swirling. The guilt is still inescapable, and in an effort to get away from it, he just keeps walking. His parents tell him that the surgery will take several hours, and that he should just come back before then, they’ll wait at the hospital. 

 

_2:34 pm_

**Lance:** how r things going there??

**Lance:** I told Zarkon that u were rlly sick

 

Keith sees the text but doesn’t care. He starts to walk. 

 

***

 

_4:18 pm_

**Lance:** Hunk and Pidge are worried about you too. 

_5:29 pm_

**Lance:** even Shay is worried about you

 

Keith arrives at the hospital again at around 8 in the evening. His parents inform him that there’s still no news, and he slumps down in an uncomfortable seat to wait. Brochures for grief counselling line the walls, and he feels an almost primal surge of rage at the smiling faces on the cover. A couple hours later, Keith is sitting staring at a wall when Dr. Thace walks out of the patients-only door. Up until now, he’s always thought that the way deaths were described in books was incredibly cliché — how do characters just see a doctor and _know_? Keith understands that now. Thace’s lined face is kind, but Keith can read the sadness there. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “We did everything that we could.” 

Keith’s entire vision goes red. He stands up without another word and leaves the hospital. 

 

_7:43 pm_

**Lance:** how’s ur grandma?

_9:58 pm_

**Lance:** im sorry if i bother u I just want to know if ur ok

_11:45 pm_

**Keith:** Fuck off, Lance. I mean it this time.

Keith does everything for the next few days in a trance. He collects his grandmother’s few possessions. He says goodbye to his parents and promises that he’ll come back home eventually. He books a ticket back to Vancouver. He thanks Dr. Thace. 

 

This flight, Keith doesn’t think of the stars. It hurts too much. 

 

_Thursday, 1:09 am_

**Lance:** I’m sorry

_Thursday, 8:12 am_

**Lance:** are you back in Van?

_Friday, 1:04 am_

**Lance:** Pidge and Hunk will bring you some food if you want. You don’t have to see me

_Saturday, 2:11 am_

**Lance:** You don’t have to talk about it

**Lance:** I just want to make sure you’re okay

_Monday, 9:14 am_

**Lance:** Our final project was due today. I told Zarkon we’ll do the presentation later. He turned purple, you should have seen it

_Wednesday, 3:13 pm_

**Lance:** Maybe I do care.

 

Lance gives up. 


	4. at first i thought you were a constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crying and hugs :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter people will hopefully be happier - I was going to write this chapter into a huge fight but I just couldn't bring myself to do that to Keith, he's so sad :(
> 
> anyways, I've gotten pretty good feedback on this so far so I'll keep updating!

Keith is a mess. He’s been back in Vancouver for four days, and he hasn’t done anything but sleep restlessly and drink. He knows he must look bad because even Rolo — who is never concerned about anything — is worried. “Dude, you look like shit,” he says. “You want weed?” Keith is vaguely touched by his offer. “I’ll be fine,” he replies, although he’s pretty sure that’s a lie. 

Astronomy — the only thing he’s wanted to do since he was ten — holds no joy anymore. Keith can’t see the point in working on a degree when his grandma will never see him graduate, never see him discover anything, never see anything he does. Keith snags a half-empty bottle from near his bed, wondering idly if he’s becoming like his dad. 

He just wants to get away from the guilt: his scattered thoughts keep coming back to the same thing, that his grandma wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t left home. He could have stayed and taken care of her. Somewhere, deep down, he knows that it’s not really his fault, but he still can’t shake the feeling. He also doesn’t know what to do about his parents: he hasn’t talked to them since he left the hospital, and he doesn’t know if he can ever forgive them. Groaning, he takes another sip of alcohol and tries to fall back to sleep. 

 

***

 

The thumping bass at the random house party Lance and Hunk are at feels like it’s shaking Lance in half. Normally, he’d be getting as drunk as possible and trying to pick up as many hot people as possible, but today he just feels sick. He knows he’s making a fool of himself by texting Keith so much, but he can’t help it: despite himself, he’s actually concerned. Lance takes a halfhearted sip of his beer, wondering if he should just try to get wasted enough to forget about stupid Mullet. As he’s contemplating this idea, Hunk comes up to him and grabs his arm, surprisingly firmly. 

“Ok,” yells Hunk over the music, “that’s it. Consider this an official intervention.” Lance frowns, confused, as Hunk pulls him out of the building. “You look like you’re going to cry on the dance floor,” says Hunk. Lance protests, but only weakly. “You know where his dorm is, right?” “Yeah…” says Lance, reluctantly. “I’m not gonna go find him, dude. That’s fucking creepy!” “I don’t care,” Hunk sighs. “I don’t like seeing you like this. Besides, I thought you hated him. What do you care what he thinks?” Hunk asks, proud of his logic. Lance ducks his head. “Maybe I care just a little,” he says. “Gaaaaaaay!” exclaims Hunk, happily. “I wish Pidge was here to hear that! In fact, I’m going to call her.”

Twenty minutes later, the trio is walking towards Keith’s dorm room. Hunk and Lance are each carrying a giant bag filled with fruit, chips, and candy that they picked up at a convenience store. Lance, however, is having second thoughts. 

“What if he thinks I’m insane?” he wails. “What if I totally scare him off? I don’t even know what happened to him, he might just be sick!” Hunk rolls his eyes. “Relax, we’re just being nice friends. It’s not like this is grief counselling. It’s only food.” Lance isn’t convinced, but he follows Hunk and Pidge into Keith’s building.

 

***  


 

_Keith is running down the path near his house in Alberta. His breath rasps in his throat, but he doesn’t know why he’s running, only that something horrible is chasing him. His foot catches on a root and he trips forward, and the_ thing _catches up to him and tackles him. As it lifts its head, Keith sees that it is Lance. Lance is crying, and there’s blood dripping from his nose. “You can’t help me, Keith,” he keens. “Why can’t you help me?” Suddenly Lance morphs into his grandmother. She touches his face tenderly, but then her fingers sprout claws and she scratches at him, screaming “SAVE ME, KEITH,” over and over._

 

Keith is jerked out of his nightmare by a knock on the door. “Who the fuck is it?” he asks, his voice cracked and clouded by sleep. “It’s Lance, Pidge, and Hunk.” “What do you want?” asks Keith, annoyed. “We were worried, dude,” Pidge says, voice devoid of her usual sarcasm. “You haven’t answered Lance. Can we come in for a sec? We have food.”  

Keith takes in the scene around him. His hair hasn’t been washed since who-knows-when and he’s sure he must smell like shit. There’s a pile of energy bar wrappers near his bed — his sustenance for the last week — and an almost empty vodka bottle on his bedside table. He doesn’t want them to see him like this, but he really does want to eat something other than an energy bar. _Shit_ , he thinks, trying to kick some garbage under the bed, then says, “Come in.”

The trio steps into the room. Never one to mince words, Pidge says, “Fuck, you look like you got hit by a truck.” Hunk smiles gently at Keith. “Are you okay?” he asks. Lance says nothing, but he looks pale under his tan. “I don’t want to talk about it,” says Keith, “but thank you guys.” “Anytime,” says Hunk. “We’ll leave you alone, but please text any one of us if you need something.” Pidge nods a quick goodbye, and Lance continues staring at his shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the room. 

Once outside, Hunk frowns. “You didn’t say anything, dude. Do you feel better?” Lance looks vaguely sick, but he says, “Yeah, thanks guys.” They walk outside and are heading to Pidge’s dorm to get some stuff when Lance says that he’s forgotten something and needs to run to the store quickly. Pidge and Hunk give each other knowing looks, but they agree and Lance turns around. 

Ten minutes later, he’s standing in front of Keith’s door, wondering what the fuck he’s thinking. He’s about to knock when he hears something in the room, and oh god that’s Keith crying. Lance stands there comically for a minute, hand suspended in midair and mouth open. Eventually, he comes to a decision and settles down on the floor outside the door, folding his long legs under himself. Keith’s gotta come out sometime, right?

A couple hours later, Lance wants to punch Keith. His ass is sore, he’s used almost all the battery on his phone, and fucking Mullet still hasn’t come out of the room. Lance decides he is absolutely fed up.

He gets up, groaning at how asleep his leg feels, and knocks on the door. “Who the hell is it now?” asks Keith. “It’s Lance.” “What do you want?” “Just to talk to you, Keith,” Lance says, uncharacteristically softly. “Come in, I guess,” Keith replies, resigned. 

Lance opens the door then walks in, awkwardly looking for somewhere to sit. Finally, he settles on Keith’s desk chair and moves the red coat lying on it onto Keith’s desk. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” asks Lance. “It might help.”

“Why do you care?” Keith asks, bluntly. “I don’t know, man,” says Lance, running his hand through his hair, “I know what it’s like. I feel sorry for you.” With that, it’s like a floodgate opens in Keith, spilling everything he’s been feeling over the last week out. “She’s dead, Lance,” he starts, and then says almost incoherently, “and I’m never going to see her again and she’s never going to see me graduate and we’ll never look at the stars and I’m alone now and it’s all my _fault”_. As he says the last word, his voice cracks. _Look at that,_ thinks Keith. _I’m crying again._ To his credit, Lance doesn’t look annoyingly pitying. “Ok,” he says, taking control. “It is almost definitely not your fault, but you can tell me the whole story after.” “After what?” asks Keith, surprised at how well Lance is handling watching his arch-rival cry. “After you have a shower, dude. I can’t concentrate on being gallant when you smell like a fucking trash can.” 

Lance motions for Keith to get up, and he does reluctantly, revealing that he’s only wearing a loose pair of black joggers. Keith doesn’t notice Lance flinch, but mentally Lance is giving himself the biggest bitch-slap ever for noticing that Keith has abs — during a time of _grief_! He motions for Keith to go, holding his nose exaggeratedly. He hopes that it’ll coax a smile out of him, but it doesn’t.

Keith returns twenty minutes later, dressed in fresh sweatpants and a red t-shirt (Lance wonders if it _really_ needs to be that tight.) While he was showering, Lance did the best he could with cleaning the room: he threw out old bottles and garbage, brushed crumbs out of the bed, opened the window, and folded the pile of clothes that was lying on the floor. As a finishing touch, he even took out some of the fruit that they had brought earlier from one of the bags and put it in a bowl. Keith doesn’t let it show, but he’s pretty touched by the whole display. As he walks back into the room, Lance cracks open a can of beer and hands it to him, then motions for him to sit on the bed next to him. They both scoot back till they’re sitting against the wall.

“So,” says Lance. “Want to tell me the whole story?” Keith takes a sip of beer then thinks _fuck it_ , might as well tell somebody. “Where to start?” he muses, then launches into his tale. 

“I’ve lived in Alberta my whole life, at least until I came here,” he starts. “My grandma is Korean and so is my mom, but she won’t speak to me in anything but English. My dad is your classic redneck asshole: you know, alcoholism, hunting, tractor, votes for Harper, horribly homophobic — the whole package.” Lance winces in sympathy but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Keith to continue. “I don’t know why my mom married him, but things pretty much went downhill — in their marriage and for me — when I was around nine. My mom stopped coming home every night, my dad started drinking more — a lot more — and then I started getting hit.” 

Lance looks pale again. “As you can imagine, things are pretty bad for a gay Korean kid living in rural Alberta,” — Lance tries so hard not to react when Keith says he’s gay — “so things were pretty messy both at home and at school. When I was about ten, I told my grandma about it all for the first time” — Keith flexes his hand, looking at his scar — “and from then on, she protected me, always. I remember her picking me up from school, holding her head high as all the other mothers whispered about us. She’s the one that talked to me about the sky for the first time. I’d just gotten hurt at home, and she took me outside and told me that the stars would always be with me, even if nothing else was. That became my motto over the next seven years of hell.” Almost unconsciously, Lance shifts closer towards Keith on the bed. 

“And then what?” asks Lance, nervously. “Then, when I was seventeen and almost finished school, I applied here, to Voltron, on a whim. I didn’t think I’d get in — my grades were mediocre and I hadn’t done anything interesting, but I wrote an essay about my grandma and the sky and…I guess they liked it. I got a letter from them a couple of weeks later, saying that they’d pay me a full ride to study astronomy here. I was shocked, but I remember grabbing the letter, yelling ‘ha!’ at my passed-out dad, and taking it to my grandma.” His voice cracks — the memory is obviously tinged with pain now — and Lance reaches out, taking his hand. He expects Keith to pull back, but he doesn’t, just continues talking. 

“That was the happiest I’ve ever seen my grandmother. I was so worried about leaving her behind — I knew that she was getting old and wasn’t sure that I could leave, but she pushed me so hard to accept. I remember her telling me over and over that she wouldn’t hold me back, couldn’t live with herself if she did. That night, I accepted the offer and I promised her that she’d see me graduate.” Keith is openly crying by now. He laughs bitterly. “I guess that didn’t happen. I don’t see the point, Lance. Everything I’ve done her, I’ve done for her, and she’s gone now. What the fuck did I do to deserve that?” His voice is rasping from talking so much, and he’s sure his face is a mess of snot and tears. 

Lance doesn’t know what to say. “You didn’t, Keith,” he sighs. “It’s just shit luck.” “What if it’s not luck, Lance?” he asks. It’s obviously something he’s thought about a lot. “What if it’s me? If I didn’t leave my parents would never have moved her to that home and maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” _Fuck it_ , thinks Lance, and he drinks the rest of his beer and wraps his arm around Keith’s shoulders, which are surprisingly thin. 

“Keith, you never could have known,” he starts. “I don’t know your grandma, but from what I hear you say she would have only been upset if you’d stayed back in Alberta because of her. You must know how happy you made her by taking this offer. What happened wasn’t your fault, it just happened”. Lance wishes that he’d taken an English class at school or something. What he’s saying is so much less eloquent than what he wants to tell Keith, so he opts to pull Keith into a hug, settling his head against his chest. Keith seems surprised, but he doesn’t resist. 

Lance is silent for a minute, then he thinks of something that might actually help. “Hey, Keith,” he says. “Yeah?” asks Keith. “You know what’s helped me a lot since I came to BC? Like with homesickness and family problems and stuff? Hiking. Toronto doesn’t have the wilderness that BC does, and from what I know Alberta is basically just one big field” — Keith shakes his head — “and I’ve found that I really like the outdoors here.” Lance wonders if this is a good idea, then figures that he’s gotten this far. “Do you want to go hiking with me tomorrow?” he asks — Keith is surprised at how nervous Lance the lady-killer sounds. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing or anything, but I’ll bring some lunch and show you one of my favourite spots, if you want?” Keith feels a tiny bit of the grief that’s been crushing him lift off of his shoulders. “Sure,” he says, and feels Lance relax. “I’m just not great company right now, but I wouldn’t mind that.” 

“Ok ok ok ok,” says Lance, all in one breath. “I’ll text you the details.” Keith laughs internally at how un-smooth he is, but doesn’t say anything. Lance hauls himself off the bed and says bye to Keith, who musters a weak smile. 

 

Once he’s outside, Lance _might_ do a bit of a victory dance. 


End file.
